Playing to the Middle

J.C. PENNEY has broken free of its suburban parking area to invade Herald Square, and the most frequent question on New York’s collective lips seems to be: Why?

Why would this perennially square department store bother to reanimate itself in Manhattan — in the sleekest, scariest fashion city in America — during a hair-raising economic downturn, without taking the opportunity to vigorously rebrand itself? Why would this dowdy Middle American entity waddle into Midtown in its big old shorts and flip-flops without even bothering to update its ancient Helvetica Light logo, which for anyone who grew up with the company is encrusted with decades of boring, even traumatically parental, associations?

J. C. Penney has always trafficked in knockoffs that aren’t quite up to Canal Street’s illegal standards. It was never “get the look for less” so much as “get something vaguely shaped like the designer thing you want, but cut much more conservatively, made in all-petroleum materials, and with a too-similar wannabe logo that announces your inferiority to evil classmates as surely as if you were cursed to be followed around by a tuba section.”

But things, perhaps, have changed.

The juniors section of the new Manhattan Penney’s seems to be trying, in a somewhat timid fashion, to thump with new energy. Mini-sections flirt with Topshop-like knockoffs and goth wear lite — not quite a Hot Topic, but nearly lukewarm. It is possible for a raging tween to walk out of Penney’s looking mildly subversive in a zebra-print tee, a studded punk (vinyl) belt and black ankle-zip jeans ($42). Young girls and their moms were quite delighted, gasping and squealing to find T-shirts with post-Jacko-facto memorial sentiments like “I ♥ Michael Jackson” ($20) and “Every Girl Needs Her Vampire.”

When I asked what she liked best about Penney’s, Ms. Robinson replied, “The tourism, the diversity, the layout,” with a talking-point accuracy that I suspected came to her via instructional videotape.

“There’s a lot of ways to advance within the company,” she continued, with genuine enthusiasm. “I am learning to do all sorts of things.” Ms. Robinson hopes that working at Penney’s will move her closer to her goal of a career in visual merchandising, and her positive upward mobility struck me (and I say this with no sarcasm) as being a good thing on dozens of levels.

Photo

Credit
Donna Alberico for The New York Times

Since the 1970s, J. C. Penney, like a retail Island of Dr. Moreau, has been doing a sinister experiment with various designers, turning them into something ... not quite human. The plot is a fashion democratization known as “masstige,” which sounds gynecological, but is a marketing term created by a fusion of “mass” and “prestige.” It refers to a downward brand extension: designers compelled to put their good names on down-market lines of “affordable luxury.” (Read: items in cheaper materials, sold at lower prices.)

Masstige theoretically began with Halston, a top designer of the 1970s, who, after dressing first ladies and the gilded habitués of Studio 54, created the Halston II line for J. C. Penney, which tragically diluted Halston’s reputation unto ridiculousness, whilst Penney’s remained imperturbably clunky. (Google Halston II now, and all you’ll get are ceiling fans.)

But, since Halston died for the sin of masstige, designers seem to be enjoying a post-shame era. Penney’s now carries I ♥ Ronson by Charlotte Ronson, and Fabulosity, an off-the-belly-chain line of clothing and extremely complicated metallic blood-on-the-dance-floor pumps by Kimora Lee Simmons, which look as if they’d emit sounds of heavy panting if you held them to your ear. There are collections by other designers who insist on going by their first names (perhaps because Penney’s is a friendly, homey place, like Oprah’s couch).

Behold: Nicole by Nicole Miller; Allen B. by Allen Schwartz (who the heck is Allen Schwartz?); Joe by Joseph Abboud in the men’s section, with sweater-vests for Dad; and — drumroll please — Liz & Co., an offshoot of Liz Claiborne, key provider of looks that say “I have been in a senior management position at this D.M.V. for 34 years.”

A good 96 percent of the Penney’s inventory is made of polyester. The few clothing items that are made of cotton make a sincere point of being cotton and tell you earnestly about their 100-percent cottonness with faux-hand-scribbled labels so obviously on the Green bandwagon they practically spit pine cones.

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It took me a long time to find a size 2 among the racks. There are, however, abundant size 10’s, 12’s and 16’s. The dressing rooms are big, clean and well tended. I tried two fairly cute items: a modified domino-print swing dress with padded shoulders by American Living (a Ralph Lauren line created for Penney’s) and a long psychedelic muumuu of a style generally worn by Rachel Zoe. Each was around $80; each fit nicely and looked good. I didn’t buy either because I can do better for $80, but if I were a size 18, I’d have rejoiced.

AND herein lies the genius of J. C. Penney: It has made a point of providing clothing for people of all sizes (a strategy, company officials have said, to snatch business from nearby Macy’s). To this end, it has the most obese mannequins I have ever seen. They probably need special insulin-based epoxy injections just to make their limbs stay on. It’s like a headless wax museum devoted entirely to the cast of “Roseanne.”

The petites section features a bounty of items for women nearly as wide as they are tall; the men’s Big & Tall section has shirts that could house two or three Shaquilles. And this is really, remarkably smart.

Photo

Credit
Donna Alberico for The New York Times

This niche has been almost wholly neglected on our snobby, self-obsessed little island. New York boutiques tend to cater to the stress-thin, morbidly workaholic, Pilates-tortured Manhattan ectomorph. But there are many more body types who vote with their hard-earned dollars, who appreciate a clean new space in Midtown to buy affordable clothes in hard-to-find sizes, as well as attentive service from attitude-free professionals. Since Penney’s remains so doggedly unchanged, it seems to be a familiar place for tourists on a budget; they feel comfortable buying at Penney’s, and these clothes still feel special, because they were bought in New York City.

My escort, Dr. Redacto, bought a T-shirt. He ordinarily wears a large. I advised him: “Get the medium. I guarantee, a large is going to be five times larger than any large you’ve ever seen.”

While modeling it for me later, we discovered that even a Penney’s medium is five times larger than any large T-shirt either of us had ever seen: The sleeves came down to the elbow, and there was enough room in front for eight months of unborn twins.

And that will probably make some guy feel pretty svelte.

J.C. PENNY

901 Avenue of the Americas (32nd Street); (212) 295-6120.

PENNIES The strategy, and a good one, is to mark nearly every item on every rack 30 to 60 percent off, and announce this with signs shouting “Doorbuster!” It all feels dizzyingly bargain-sational, prices so rock bottom as to seem virtually free.

CRANNIES The new vertical layout, a breakaway from Penney’s tradition of inhabiting sprawling horizontal mall space, requires two floors of the Manhattan Mall. After you’ve mastered the escalator, it’s pretty much a big, sprawling Penney’s on two floors, crammed to the gills with a widely diverse clientele, the majority of whom seem very pleased.

DENNY’S No matter how many Grand Slam breakfasts you’ve knocked out of the park, Penney’s has a size for you. Ladies will find kicky little numbers that fit no matter how bountiful the good Lord made them; in the men’s Big & Tall section, even Voltron could find office casuals.